Frickle Frackle Online
by fricklefrackleXpress
Summary: Rivals face off in the virtual MMO world of Frickle Frackle Online. Will Cody Driggers ever actually be able to use his katana? Will Aleximander ever satisfy his thirst for revenge? Have I run out of rhetorical questions? Find out in the world of arguably the second-greatest popular MMO-based anime ever conceived.


Aleximander, Commander of the 32nd Squadron, the Vanguard of Heaven, the King of Angels, finished off his last swig of mouthwash, screwed the cap back on, and pegged the bottle at a passing car.

"Fucking nanny state bullshit," Aleximander muttered, "can't even get my 50 ounces of Thunderbird forgiveness. Goddamn Sundays."

But it was all going to be okay. Even though it was a rainy night and the methyl salicylate was already working its awful, awful magic on his throat and stomach, it was all going to be okay—because the Braincrowave was coming out at midnight, and he had been living outside for two months to take his place at the head of the line.

True to its name, the Braincrowave was a console designed to microwave the user's brain, developed after extensive research pointing to the human brain as the main impediment to player enjoyment of many video games. Aleximander didn't know quite how it worked, and he didn't care; the launch title Frickle Frackle Online had scored 10/10 on IGN, and he was going to fry his cranium until he would rate it the same.

"Hey," remarked a passing kid, "I saw that guy on the news!"

Aleximander had to think fast. He grabbed the nearest rock, smashed it into his own face, and pretended to seize on the ground until the kid was dragged away.

Smooth. Yet another unwitting plebian bested by the King of Angels.

Anyway, he didn't think about the whole jail thing anymore. Wiping the blood from his nose, Aleximander grinned: he was on the precipice of a new world.

* * *

Mike looked up from his spreadsheet, eyes burning and etched with accounts receivable. The clock had hardly moved.

Another Wednesday, another eight hours of hell. Not the burning kind, but the frozen wasteland of Dante's _Inferno_; a plain devoid of life, devoid of hope. And it had become five days of his week; the other two were spent forgetting as much as possible.

Mike reached for his coffee cup, only for his fingers to brush against his issued mousepad. He groped blindly again before looking down to find his plastic desk clean and professional as ever. The coffee machine had been broken that morning, denying him the only pleasure he still craved.

"Uh, Mike, do you have a moment?"

Mike swiveled around to face his manager, a rotund man fond of football, his boys and a thermos full of whiskey. This uberdad was holding a spreadsheet, his ample face contorted into a stern look.

"It says here that you took an eight-minute bathroom break yesterday. Now, do you think that's acceptable?"

Mike wanted nothing less than to discuss the state of his bowel movements. Computerized tracking of employees struck him as an oddity, something society would never have requested and yet a signature product of its productive apparatus.

"Well, uh," Mike began. "No. Sorry."

The manager did his best to simulate concern, denoted by a slight downward pull of his features.

"Look, I don't want you to think I'm being too strict. But that time adds up!"

It was later that day when Mike found himself in the car in the rain at seven fucking o'clock because he just wanted some goddamn food and his fridge was empty again. His radio wasn't working properly and though he pleaded with the damn thing, voice recognition wouldn't work.

"Bluetooth Audio. Bluetooth Audio. Bluetooth - Shit!"

Mike looked up just in time to see something blue flying at him. He instinctively jerked the wheel, hard, and his car swerved out of the way, narrowly missing the whatever-it-was as it veered off the road and into a concrete barrier.

As adrenaline flooded his body, Mike truly woke up for the first time that day for just long enough to wish he had simply turned off his alarm, like he had planned every day for the last two years.

* * *

Aleximander dragged the Braincrowave to his house with the pride of a successful hunter. He plunged a knife into the box and tore through the cardboard, throwing aside packing materials and instructions like so many viscera as he lifted out the new headset. The device's construction was fascinating, passable as the offspring of an oven and a motorcycle helmet, and it gleamed pregnant with the promise of brain-microwaving.

Bundled with the device was a paper envelope containing a gleaming disc. _Frickle Frackle Online_ was emblazoned at the top in gleaming Comic Sans, and a banner proclaiming, "100 HOURS FREE!" adorned the bottom.

With a trembling finger Aleximander caressed open his optical drive, gasping as he inserted _FFO_ into the waiting slot. The computer accepted his offering with a mechanical moan, and a progress bar worked its way across the screen. He watched it for the full seven hours, and no sooner had the bar reached its terminus than the Vanguard of Heaven plunged a USB deep into the rear of his computer. The machine grunted at this unexpected penetration, and a message alerted Aleximander that the drivers had been installed. He donned the helmet, and reality faded under the embrace of microwaves.

* * *

"Hello, traveler."

An improperly-loaded model stood in front of Aleximander on a white platform hemmed in by a gray fog. He was lacking a head or hands, but the name tag over his floating eyes and detached teeth read CLASS SELECT.

"Traveler, are you a wizard? Or a knight? Or a hunter? Or a thief? Or a bard? Or perhaps, a uromancer?"

"Uh," Aleximander answered, "What do those do?"

"Take your time," the un-man responded. "It is only natural to want to consider these things thoroughly."

"Okay," said Aleximander, "But what do they do?"

"Traveler," the man said, "Are you a wizard? Or a knight? Or a hunter? Or a thief? Or a bard? Or perhaps, a uromancer?"

"You didn't tell me what they do!"

"Take your time. It is only natural to want to consider these things thoroughly."

"Uh, fine," said Aleximander. "Wizard?"

"I'm sorry, traveler. That class is only available to customers with a _Frickle Frackle Online _Premium Account"

"How do I get one?"

""Traveler," the man said, "Are you a wizard? Or a knight? Or a hunter? Or a thief? Or a bard? Or perhaps, a uromancer?"

Aleximander resolved the get his account later.

"The last one sounds cool," he said. "The, uh, Euromancer?"

"Very well, traveler," said the man. "You are a Uromancer, Paragon of Piss."

"Wait –"

But the man was gone, and Aleximander was sitting in a small village in sackcloth clothes. He needed to find a way to enter his credit card and get better gear immediately… But how?

""You ... I've seen you," came a voice from behind Aleximander. He whipped around to find the royal visage of none other than Cody Driggers, who was clad from head to toe in rich silks and furs.

"Let me see your face... You are the one from my dreams," said Cody, but Aleximander had already flown into a rage and punched the character. His fist went straight through, impacting nothing, and a tooltip came up in the corner of his vision: Quest givers cannot be attacked by players.

"I swore I would have my revenge," cried Aleximander, "and I shall! Just you wait until I find your player character, Master Beighter Four Hundred Twenty Ex!"

"I was born 14 years ago," began Cody. "For 69 years I've ruled as Fricklefracklia's emperor. But for all these years I have never been the ruler of my own bedtimes... This is Monday; the Year of Hanayo 420. These are the closing days of the open beta, and the final hours before I… am grounded."

Aleximander was too busy pouting to notice that he was surrounded by hundreds of player characters.

"You, and you alone, are the chosen one," Cody continued.

"WTB Dildus, Bane of the South," someone shouted. "5000 Gold!"

"HOW DO I WHISPER?" screamed a voice.

"I hit it with my axe."

"HEY GUYS I'M CHOSEN ONE ARE YOU"

"Moist with passion, the Halfling's furry hands wrap around your—"

"Oh, uh, my name?"

Aleximander snapped back to attention.

"I am Aleximander, Commander of the 32nd Squadron, the Vanguard of Heaven, the King of Angels!"

"Sorry," responded Cody, "There's a 14-character limit. Please try again."

"Aleximander," said Aleximander. And he was.

"Hey," Cody said, "Have you ever heard of the popular anime series Sword –"

But he never finished, for a voice boomed from the heavens:

"CODY! YOU TOLD ME YOU DID THIS HOMEWORK!"

"I can go no further," said Cody. "You alone must stand against… Phil."

"YOU'RE GROUNDED MISTER!"

"SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"

The scream pierced the air, lingering on far after Cody had faded from the game.

Aleximander blinked. Wasn't he an NPC?

* * *

A commotion in the large, shoddily-tectured town square drew Aleximander's gaze. As he drew closer it became apparent that the other players were clustered around a shapely young cat-girl. She gazed heavenward, unspeaking, as the crowd formed a circle some distance away from her.

Then, suddenly, she vanished. And in her place was a figure in a cowled black robe and matching cape, the sort of attire a particularly pathetic middle-schooler might think was cool.

"Sorry," said the character labeled Nabocchan, "had to switch alts."

"Anyway," Nabocchan continued, "I cyber-hacked this cyber-game and you can't log out and you're all totally going to die irl if you cyber-die or whatever. Thank you for your patience while we resolve this issue."

And the figure vanished.

"Uh," a nearby woman said, "I can still log out…"

Her avatar disappeared, as did a few others.

"Hey," Nabocchan reappeared to say. "Stop it."

More avatars faded. The crowd was thinning.

"Cut it out. Guys. Guys. Come on. You're, like, super going to die."

There were only a few people left now. Nabocchan popped back out of existence with a sigh.

Aleximander was more baffled than anything. But he couldn't log out. Not now. He still had his mission.

A few of the remaining players had congregated into a group, led by a young girl in silver plate.

"We need to band together if we're going to survive," called Aleximander. All the better to have a cover as he pursued Master Beighter Four Hundred Twenty Ex.

"Yeah," said the girl, "I was just saying that."

"Don't worry," said Aleximander, "I'll protect you and you can make food and stuff and we can marry –"

"What the _fuck?"_

And so Aleximander came to be a lone wanderer. He told himself it was better that way anyhow, with no one to stand in the path of his vengeance. And when he found a place to purchase a premium account, he would be unstoppable.

* * *

Cody knew from the second Nabocchan appeared that he had been ordained to save the day. He had been an early tester and volunteer cutscene actor, and his sacred Blessed Katana +99 "Douteigiri" was feared throughout the four corners of Fricklefracklia and yea, unto the DLC content.

As the preorder-exclusive Samurai class, Cody embodied honor; he had sharpened himself like a blade, refining away all impurities and focusing his will into a single point capable of cutting through nearly anything. He had also stolen his mom's credit card and paid $200 to level straight to 100.

A wolf stood in his way, as if to test his newfound resolve. Cody drew the Douteigiri, and the wolf leapt.

Cody struck with his katana. Then struck again. Then struck again. The wolf clawed at him for 1 damage. Cody used his Burning Blade ability to imbue his attacks with fire and attacked for 50 damage – finally, the beast was slain. Cody sheathed his blade, gaining 1 EXP.

Yes, he had learned the path of the warrior, and lesser men and beasts were naught but chaff before his righteous edge.

Facing to the west, Cody walked into the sunset. There was only place one evil enough to wear such a cape could be: Phil's Castle.

* * *

Aleximander rose from the remains of his most recent quarry, a mighty beast. Noble in life, it was pathetic in death; the king of the wilds reduced to a mere corpse. Aleximander took a moment for reflection, then tore off its paw. With 50 lionbear paws, he was ready to return to the Old Witch of the Well and claim his Pisslord's Gauntlets.

But fate would have it otherwise. A figure silhouetted against the burning sun caught Aleximander's eye. A short man – a boy by the looks of it – walked alone across the horizon, swiping a glowing sword back and forth.

It could be no other than Master Beighter Four Hundred Twenty Ex. And this time, Aleximander was ready.

* * *

Cody heard a bloodcurdling shout from behind him and turned as a crystalline spear of pure uric acid whizzed by his head.

"_Cody Driggers,_" the weird cop dude from before screamed, _"I am Aleximander, Commander of the 32nd Squadron, the Vanguard of Heaven, the King of Angels! Prepare to die!"_

Cody drew his katana. Phil would have to wait; his ki was fully charged for combat now.

* * *

The two players circled for some time, Cody with blade and Aleximander with enchanted catheter. Then, just as Aleximander prepared another blast of urine, there was a ding and a form materialized.

"Hello," taunted a magical girl, "Remember me?"

"Uh," said Cody.

"No?" said Aleximander.

The magical girl's face turned sour as she looked down.

"Dammit," she said, "Wrong alt again."

With another ping she was gone, and Nabocchan stood in her place.

"What do you want? You interrupt my duel!", cried Aleximander.

"Well," said Nabocchan, "You're the only two players still in the game. So, I thought it only proper that I spectate your fatal battle, and challenge the winner."

"Fine, whatever, just get out of my way!" said Aleximander, unleashing a beam of concentrated uric magics at Cody as another ping sounded.

"Hey, guys, I've been in the hospital after a car accident and I thought this game would be a fun –"

Sir MikeMan69 never finished his sentence, for Aleximander's unholy torrent broke upon his face.

"Oh, fuck _this_," he said, logging out.

Cody seized the opportunity to slash at Aleximander's exposed wand, only for his blade to deflect harmlessly against a player still experiencing the invulnerability buff from logging in. The game pinged again.

Barbarian Hariot Johnson looked around with an expression of bemused disdain.

"Oh, wait," she said. "Balls. I thought this was dot ha-"

And then she was gone as well, having disconnected from the server.

"Now, Master Beighter Four Hundred Twenty Ex, there are no further distractions to save you!"

Aleximander charged with his frosty dagger Nipplerend and planted the blade deep within Driggers' left breast.

"Sorry," Cody said, "I'm already logging out. This is when _Sword Art Online _comes on TV."

And indeed, the blade did not, could not cut into Driggers' fading bosom. And then even Cody was gone, leaving Aleximander alone with his anger and regret.

He turned just in time to see Nabocchan as a magical girl again, lifting a bolt of lightning.

"OP," said Aleximander as 100,000 volts of min-maxing tryhard bullshittery slammed into his chest.

With no energy even to lift his head from the soil, Aleximander slowly, painfully forced his mouth to form the words he knew would be his last.

"Please…", the felled uromancer rasped as Magical Girl Nabocchan stood over his smoking heap of a body.

"…Nerf…"

And then there was a descending heel, and blackness.

* * *

Aleximander, more or less alive and very much in an advanced state of salicylate poisoning, tore the Braincrowave from his head and threw it across the room. Somehow, he had been the victim of an impossible betrayal: IGN itself had lied to him.

He would only give _Frickle Frackle Online _9/10.


End file.
